


Quiet

by FloralBucky



Category: Baby Driver (2017)
Genre: Age Difference, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Explicit Language, Extremely Dubious Consent, First Time, Heavy Angst, M/M, Murder, Power Imbalance, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 02:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11371113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloralBucky/pseuds/FloralBucky
Summary: Baby wants to escape this life but he doesn't know how.





	Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE read the tags. I've never really written anything this dark or intense before so please please read the tags I don't want anyone to be surprised. 
> 
> Also I've never written anything in such a niche fandom before...what a life.

 

Baby had always been quiet.

He was a happy kid, constantly smiling. His parents’ friends called him Sunshine Boy because of his bright blonde hair and shining grin.

But he was quiet. He always wanted to hear everything: the cars on the road, other people chatting in restaurants, birds chirping, his mother singing. His father thought it was a funny little quirk. He used to rub Baby’s head affectionately and say _What are you listening for, Baby? What do you expect to hear?_ Baby would just smile and look to his mother and she would smile knowingly back.

It was her that taught him to listen. She told him that talking was great and all, but that you learned much more listening than you ever did talking. _Listenin,’_ she would say, dropping the “g” in her smooth Southern accent. _Baby, don’t mind your father. Keep your ears wide open and don’t you dare think about changin’ for a thing. When people are all talk and no listen they don’t get nowhere in life Baby. They don’t get nowhere._

Baby thought about what his mother had said every time his parents started fighting. Even with headphones in he could hear the argument downstairs. He only ever heard his father’s voice, screaming at his mother. His father would scream and scream and scream and shove her and hit her and she never said a word, not one. Not once. _They don’t get nowhere,_ he remembered her saying. _When people are all talk and no listen they don’t get nowhere in life._

When he got older he remembered thinking about that and smiling bitterly. His mother preferred singing to talking and his father hardly every closed his mouth, but they were both fucking dead.

 

*          *          *

 

When Baby first started driving for Doc, he hated him. He would seethe behind Doc’s back at the unfairness of it all. He didn’t ask to be a fucking orphan and he didn’t ask to be in fucking foster care and he didn’t ask to have this fucking life.

But as he got older and seventeen turned into eighteen turned into nineteen, Baby’s anger withered into exhaustion. He just wanted to be done, to be out of Doc’s service, to be free. He just wanted Joe to stop looking at him with heavy eyes every time he shoved another wad of hundreds underneath the loose floorboard. He wanted to stop feeling shaky and wrecked after every job. He just wanted to live without the ever-present threat of his burner phone’s shrill ring. He just wanted -

  

*          *          *

On Baby’s eighteenth birthday Doc fucked him.

Baby didn’t ask him to, didn’t really want him to, but he didn’t say no. He couldn’t. He had just blindly followed Doc to a hotel, responded robotically to his every instruction until he was naked except for his headphones, facedown on the snow-white hotel comforter.

Baby had never had sex before, and he knew Doc knew, but neither of them had said anything. Doc just fucked him rhythmically, Baby limp and stiff on the bed, a song crashing loudly in his headphones to drown out the sound of skin against skin. After Doc came he rolled Baby over and sucked him off. It didn’t take long for Baby to come, but he didn’t feel a thing. He just stared at the textured ceiling, arms pressed into the mattress, and shook apart.

Afterwards Doc cleaned Baby and himself up, told Baby to get dressed, and drove him back to his apartment.

“Happy birthday, Baby,” he said coolly once they had pulled up outside Baby’s building. He handed Baby a wad of cash. “Job tomorrow. I’ll call you. Keep your phone nearby.” And then he drove away. Baby had stood outside for a moment before going inside. He passed by Joe, not stopping to sign one word, and shut himself into his bedroom. He grabbed a sky blue IPod from his desk, seamlessly switched his headphones from his old one to the blue one, and crashed on his bed. Baby hadn’t cried in years, but that night he cried himself to sleep.

The next morning Baby’s ass and thighs ached so much that he had trouble walking. When he gingerly sat down in the car at the start of the job, one of the members of the crew chuckled.

“Damn, Baby. You get fucked or what? You can’t even sit straight!” Everyone wolf-whistled and laughed. Someone slapped Baby on his arm. Baby ignored them and started the car, glad that he was wearing dark sunglasses. Behind his Ray-Bans his eyes were burning.

 

*          *          *

 

The worst part of it all was that Baby used to love driving. He used to love the thrill of it, the sharp turns and dramatic drifts. He loved the wind whipping past a sleek car, the excitement of listening to the perfect song as the machine purred beneath him and hurtled down an open freeway.

Driving for Doc turned Baby’s love of cars into dust. He dreaded each job, loathed having to see people get hit or pushed around with a gun. The only saving grace was that he hadn’t seen anyone get shot yet. He was so good at his job that even after all these years no one in his crew had needed to shoot anyone and he didn’t need to have any more blood on his hands.

One time Doc made Baby blow him in a car. A hulking Escalade with a shiny black paint job. Baby remembered that the license plate had read “CRUSHR.”

When Baby finished him off he sat up, wiped his mouth, and put his sunglasses back on. Doc had moved to unbuckle Baby’s pants, but Baby shook his head. He said nothing, just shook his head. Doc had looked at him for a moment, but eventually sat back in his seat.

“Whatever suits you, Baby,” he had said. “Whatever suits you.”

  

*          *          *

 

“How long has he been fucking you?” Bats asked Baby one morning.

They were all siting around while Doc drew a map on the chalkboard with firm and deliberate strokes. Darling was on Buddy’s lap, stroking his cheeks and neck as they made out passionately. Bats had moved from where he was inspecting the toy cars on the table to sit next to Baby. He had sat in silence for a while, watching Baby out of the corner of his eye as he observed the room. When he spoke it was quiet, quiet enough for only Baby to hear, but it sounded like a shout in Baby’s ears, even through the music and the ringing.

Baby was stunned into silence. He stared at Bats through the dark tint of his sunglasses, trying to gauge his tone.

“I’m serious,” Bats said, looking Baby dead in the face. “How long has he been fucking you?” Not ‘How long have you and Doc been having sex?’ or ‘How long have you been fucking him?’ No. ‘How long has he been fucking you?’

Baby debated what would happen if he told the truth. Would Bats tell the others? How would Doc react? Would Bats laugh, congratulate Baby on “getting some?” Would he help Baby? Would he hurt him? Would he hurt Doc?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Baby finally mumbled, eyes trained on the dark screen of his IPod. He was a terrible liar, and Bats knew it, but he let it slide. He just eyed Baby one more time, nodded at him, and went back to his seat at the table.

 

*          *          *

 

Two weeks later after the Post Office job Baby finally made the decision to quit. He no longer owed Doc anything: not his fucking money, not his time, not anything. He strode into the hotel, bass thumping in his ears and hands shoved into his jacket pocket to hide the shaking. He was going to look Doc in his fucking face and tell him that this was it. That he couldn’t keep Baby hostage anymore no matter how much of a fucking “good luck charm” Doc thought he was. But when he turned the corner, all he saw was red.

Darling and Buddy were sprawled across the floor, blood painting the concrete. Darling’s eyes were closed, but Buddy’s were wide open in shock, his normally slicked-back hair flopped in front of his eyes.

Baby couldn’t move. He looked up from Darling and Buddy’s bodies to see Doc, spread eagle on the table, a bullet hole in his skull. Blood was splattered around him and Baby swore that he could see Doc’s brain matter spilling out.

Baby turned to the side and heaved, hands braced on his knees. All that came up was a little bit of dribble but his eyes watered and stung all the same. As he straightened up, wiping his mouth, Bats materialized from the shadows. He was wearing his signature red jacket and he had a gun slung loosely in one hand. There was a black duffel bag in the other.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said as he looked at Baby. “I know what he did to you. As for the two of them,” he spat, gesturing to Darling and Buddy where they were laying on the floor. “They didn’t know this business well enough to survive one more fucking minute. They deserved what they fucking got. Motherfuckers.” He spat in their direction.

“Here,” he said, holding the duffel bag out and taking a step towards Baby. All of Baby’s muscles screamed at him to get back, to get away from this man who had just killed three of his associates, three of his team members. But he stood his ground and took the duffel when Bats handed it to him. He didn’t have to look to know what was inside.

“I have a daughter about your age,” Bats said to Baby after a moment. He looked at Baby, and once again Baby felt like Bats could see straight through his sunglasses and into his head. Then he turned and sauntered back into the shadows, grabbing another duffel bag off the floor as he did.

Baby never saw him again.


End file.
